Cold as Fire
by karminai
Summary: It started with something as simple as a cold, but the fire that was ignited between them would burn forever.
1. Sniffly Beginnings

Hermione Granger woke up in her own Head Girl Dormitory with a splitting headache. She padded out to the Heads Common Room, still in her pajamas, planning on making herself some tea before classes started. She could have easily conjured herself some, but making tea the Muggle way was something Hermione enjoyed. She found it soothing. As she headed into the kitchen, she was shocked to see Professor Dumbledore sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. He seemed to be talking to himself, mentioning again and again that the marshmallows were tasty and that he hoped he would get either a 'red balloon' or a 'pot of golden treasure,' next before he spotted her.

"Ah, Ms. Granger, good to see you, good to see you. My sources have informed me that you are ill today. We must make sure that a snigglewiffle hasn't worked its way into the water."

He spotted the confused look on the face before him.

"A snigglewiffle, haven't you heard of them?" His eyes twinkled. "I, myself, was blissfully unaware of the situation until Ms. Lovegood so kindly informed me yesterday evening. Thank heavens. Now, you seem to be contagious, so you will not be attending classes today." Hermione began to protest, but Dumbledore cut her off. "No, Ms. Granger, I must insist. My mind has been made up. In addition, I must request that you spend today in the Hospital Wing. As irksome as it may seem to you, it will insure that Madam Pomfrey can take care of you as she sees fit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a box of Lucky Charms in my office calling my name. Good day to you. I do hope you feel well soon, but until then—I'm sure you'll have an interesting day."

The shadow of a wink, and he strode away.

As soon as Dumbledore was gone, Hermione began to walk back into her dormitory. She gathered several of her books and then began to walk out of the Heads portrait hole. That's when she realized that she was in her pajamas. Another ten minutes, and she was really ready to spend what she was sure was going to be a splendid day of coughing, sniffing, worrying about what she was missing in classes, and having lovely chats with Madam Pomfrey about the proper way to dress a wound.

The gray-haired witch was waiting for her in the Hospital Wing.

"What took you so long?" She didn't wait for a reply. "I was informed of your illness an hour ago."

"Well, I-" Hermione's voice was cut off by another.

"Oh, well, this is just lovely. No, really, I couldn't be more thrilled," drawled a low, sarcastic, congested voice.

"Malfoy? Oh, really. My day couldn't get any worse."

Madam Pomfrey looked rather amused.

"Unfortunately, I have a feeling that it can. And it will. The two of you are stuck together for the rest of the day; I need to tend to some Jibgytha roots that Karina Figg needs by the end of the week. If either of you needs me, call upon one of the house elves, they will alert me. Enjoy your afternoon."

And then there were two. Hermione stood in the middle of the bed-lined room for a minute.

"You look nauseous. You should really lay down."

"Oh, Draco, I didn't know you cared." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Okay, face it Granger. I know we're both in situations we b really /b don't want to be in right now, but if we aren't civil to each other, it's going to be a much more painful day than," ACHOO! "it has to be. So, what do you say? Truce? Just for today?"

"Fine, whatever." She cursed under her breath. "I didn't even get to make my tea."

Malfoy looked as though he was about to say something scathing, but instead said, "I actually think there's some in that cupboard over there."

She strode to the corner and saw that he was right.

"Would you like some?" Hermione was determined to be mature.

"Are you kidding? It's sweltering in here."

"What are you—Oh. You must have a fever."

And, instinctively, acting on the natural impulse that she had to take care of people, she pressed her hand gently to his forehead, and then his cheeks. Malfoy's eyes closed and he sighed quietly. Less than a second later, he flinched and pulled away.

"Rule number one. Don't touch me, you filthy little Mudblood."

Hermione glared at him. "Rule number two, you Slytherin slime, appreciate when people are trying to be nice to you. And, by the way, I'm not sure calling me a 'filthy little Mudblood' is any way to start of that truce of yours." She rolled her eyes, then shivered and sneezed. "Yeah, you have a fever."

Malfoy seemed apologetic, but he didn't say he was sorry. He muttered instead, "I used to get those a lot when I was a kid. My mother would make me iced tea to cool me down and make my throat feel better."

"I can make myself some hot tea and you some ice tea. Do you want some?" She regretted the words the second they were out of her mouth. She was sure Malfoy would mock her and accuse her of succumbing to his "Slytherin Sex-God Charm." Like that would ever happen. As far as Hermione was concerned, Malfoy was number one on her hit list.

But, surprisingly, Malfoy just smiled appreciatively and said, "Yeah, I would. Thanks."

Hermione tinkered in the corner for a few minutes and came back to the bed where Malfoy was lying with two cups of tea—one as hot as fire, one as cold as ice. Malfoy held his glass up against his forehead, his right cheek, his left, his neck, and then he took a sip. He smiled gratefully. These were the first times in her life that Hermione had seen Draco's smile. She had seen his smirk, sure, but never the real smile that he fought to keep hidden. He set his cup down on the oak table next to him. Hermione sat down on a bed across the room from him, but then thought better of it and moved to the one next to his. She was shocked when he started to peel his sweater off. She urged herself to look away.

I Now. Look away b now. /b Hermione Granger, you look away from that boy b right NOW. /b /I 

But she couldn't. Once he finished wrestling with his sweater, she saw that he had an emerald green T-shirt on underneath. For a split second, she felt vaguely disappointed that she didn't get to see his bare chest.

I No, no, wait. Ew. Malfoy. Focus. Ew. You're sick, that's why you think he's good looking. Your judgment is all out of whack. /I She shivered again. He tossed his sweater on the floor as she wrapped the bed's blanket around her.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment until Malfoy said, "Hey, let's play a game!"

Hermione's reply was scornful. "Oh, yeah, I was just thinking about how much fun it would be to hop up on a broomstick and play a little Quidditch. Or, hey, let's get out the Twister!" Every word was soaked in cynicism.

Malfoy was just as sarcastic. "Hey, Hermione, let's try and be a b little /b more immature here, shall we?" His voice became curious. "And what's a Twister?"

Hermione didn't register at his use of her first name. She just understood that he was calling her immature, and he was right.

"It's a Muggle game, never mind." She sighed. "Well, I guess if I have to spend another six hours with you, why don't we see what crazy idea you have in mind?"

"It's this game my Durmstrang friend, Marepci, taught me. It's a talking game, so we can play while we're sick without killing ourselves. Although if you continue to act like a first-year, I might regret not having you do a couple hundred push-ups." He saw Hermione's glare and glared right back, but it quickly turned into yet another smile. "What, you get to be childish, but I have to act my age the entire time? Not fair. Anyway, I get to ask you any question you want, and you have to answer honestly. Then you get to ask me, and I have to answer honestly. We each get two questions we get to skip, and after that if there's one we don't want to answer, we have to answer one of the ones we skipped earlier."

"Okay," ACHOO! "Let's play. HEY, I wasn't sneezing before. You got me more sick!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Deepest apologies. It's those shnogglywanngelers that Dumbledore was talking about."

They both started laughing.

"He mentioned them to you, too?"

"Yeah, I was woken up this morning by Dumbledore playing the backpipes. Off his rocker, that one is."

Hermione secretly agreed. Dumbledore b was /b a bit crazy. "Brilliant, though."

Malfoy inclined his head as though he agreed, and then volunteered to ask the first question of the game.

"Let's start off with easy questions. Do you have any siblings?"

"No. Mum gave birth when I was eight, but my baby brother, Lucas Matthew, died a few hours after he was born. I only got to see him once. I feel like I always have to be the best at everything because I'm living for both of us. I have to do all the things he never got to do."

Malfoy looked sympathetic and understanding at the same time. "It's sad, when you don't even get to know them before they're taken from you."

Hermione looked at him quizzically, wondering how he knew.

"My sister. Killed by Voldemort on my parent's orders when I was only a few months old."


	2. Disarming Truths

"My sister. Killed by Voldemort on my father's orders when I was only a few months old."

Hermione couldn't comprehend it, at first. Couldn't understand why the Malfoys would kill their daughter. Her voice dropped until it was almost a whisper.

"Why?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "You know that phrase 'the black sheep?' Well, apparently, my sister Amalia was the white sheep of the dark Malfoy clan. She was seventeen, being groomed by my father to become a Death Eater, and she—refused. Ran away in the middle of the night, and joined the Order of the Phoenix. Said she was a Malfoy by name only, and—that was it. My father made sure to have another child first, ensuring the continuation of the family, and then… she died. A personal favor, he told me, in return for so many years of loyal service. Voldemort killed her himself." His eyes dropped. He had never shared this much with anyone, why was he sharing with Hermione Granger, a filthy- he stopped himself before he even got to the word _Mudblood_, reminding himself to stay civil.

"Okay, it," his voice broke, and he cleared his throat.

"Okay. It's your turn. Ask me anything."

"Alright. What's your favorite subject?"

His voice was scathing. "No, Granger, don't baby me. Ask a real question."

"I'm just easing… You yourself said 'Let's start with the easy questions.'"

"I know what I said. Things change, move on. Don't ease into it, I can handle anything you throw at me."

"Fine. If your sister could see you now, what do you think she'd think of you?

He didn't even pause before answering. "She'd be ashamed of me. Ashamed of the life I've chosen for myself. She'd be disappointed that I let my father force me into…well…everything. Most of all, I think she'd consider my life a waste. My sister, she was extraordinary. She made the hard choices. She took the path that she knew was right, and my life is just one easy path after another. She died young, but her life mattered. Mine won't."

He couldn't continue. He was overflowing with bitterness and pain and regret. He hated that, try as he might, he would always be different from his father. For Draco loved so much a woman whom he had never met. A woman who had turned her back on her family. A woman who had turned her back on him. And he knew in his heart that while he loved his dead sister, his father couldn't even muster any compassion for his living son. He saw it in Lucius' eyes. The coldness. The indifference. He forced himself to admit to Hermione,

"And I'm not guessing all this. I know. She wrote a letter to me and gave it to Dumbledore to give to me on my first day at Hogwarts. She knew she was going to die, she said, but she'd much rather die with dignity than live a lie."

"Wow. Draco, that's… I'm so…"

"Don't say you're sorry." He spat the words out. "People say it all the time, to everyone, and it means **nothing**. The words are so empty. Especially here. My sister **chose** to die. She had other options, and she **chose** to die."

"But she--"

"She. Chose. To. Die." His words were deliberate and forceful. "So don't say you're sorry. I don't need it."

She was somehow hurt at these words. He could call her a Mudblood, he could call her filth, and she was fine. But he had trusted her, and then rejected her. It hurt her heart to see him in pain. She could tell that he wasn't angry with her, wasn't holding her in contempt. He was just trying to be strong. He needed to be strong.

"Well." Her voice was gentle, but controlled. "I reckon we need a change of pace. A lighter question."

"Hmm, but it's what **I **reckon that matters. It's my turn."

He was deep in thought when he noticed that, even under all the blankets, Hermione was shivering. Reflexively, he picked his sweated up from off the ground and wordlessly handed it to her. She smiled and whispered a grateful 'Thanks,' before pulling it on. Draco watched the way her body moved as the wool draped over her. He was mesmerized for a moment by the shape of her shoulder and the freckles on her collarbone. He wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to count those freckles. She gave a tiny cough and he jumped back to reality.

"Right. My question. Are you," he paused for dramatic effect, "In love with the Weasel King?"

Hermione gave a long sigh, and Malfoy was hit with a wave of disappointment as he awaited her blissful 'Yes.' But he was shocked.

"No."

"No… you're not?"

"No. God, I wish I were. It'd be so much easier. I know he fancies me, I'm not blind. He's quite good-looking, too…" Malfoy drew in a sharp breath at these words. "but… I don't feel anything. Can you imagine how much simpler my life would be if I **did** love Ron? It would be so perfect. We would get married, Harry would be the best man, Ginny would be my maid of honor, we would have 2.5 children," She laughed bitterly, "a dog, a picket fence, and live happily ever bloody after."

He was taken aback by how emotional she was getting. Even moreso by the fact that she had sworn.

"Uh, sorry Granger, but you lost me at the 2.5 children part. You only want half a child?"

She smiled. "In the Muggle world, that's how they describe the average family. Everything would be so goddamn simple."

She started to cry, not knowing exactly why the tears were falling. It had something to do with Ron, something to do with Lucas Matthew, even a little to do with Draco's sister.

"I--" she managed to sob out the words "I wish I did love him." She reached up to capture a tear in her finger and brought it to her mouth.

"Granger, you've finally gone mental. Not that you weren't before. If you're thirsty, I can make you another cup of tea," he said, noticing her cup was empty.

She laughed through her sobs. "It's something my grandmother taught me. Each tear has a specific taste."

"And this one is?"

"Frustration. With a bit of…"

"Bit of what?"

"Loneliness." She had stopped crying, excess tears still falling down her face.

Without thinking about the implications, he closed the gap between them, gently grazed her cheek with his finger, and scraped a tear into his hand. He brought it up to his mouth and tasted it. She gave a shiver that, quite possibly, had nothing to do with her body temperature.

"Yeah. That's the taste I get in my mouth whenever I think about how the rest of my life is going to be. Do you want that tea?"

"Yes, please. Peppermint."

He meandered over to the kitchen, glancing back to see her burrowing further beneath the blankets.

"Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"What did you mean by that… the rest of your life being—" he cut her off.

"Think about it. Three years from now I'll be a Death Eater. Five years from now, I'll probably be in Azkaban, having people cluck and sigh about how I cold have been," he put on a mocking voice "so much more."

He placed the kettle on the stove.

Her words were soft and unobtrusive. "You could be, you know. So much more."

"No. I've considered the options. There's no way out."

"You could go to Dumbledore, join the Order, go undercover--"

"Hermione, it's like you don't **get** it, or something." Each word was infused with rage. He took a deep breath and calmed himself down. "All that would accomplish me is a grave right next to my sister's."

He was expecting her to be understanding and sympathetic. Instead, she flung the covers off of her body and jumped to her feet. Immediately she was hit with a wave of dizziness and collapsed onto the floor. He crossed the room in four steps, reaching down to check that she was alright. She jerked her arm away.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. "Listen, Draco Malfoy, you don't fool me for one second. You think you're all tough, but you're not. Don't expect me to feel sorry for you because you're being forced into this life. What about all the innocent people who will die at your hands just because you want to please your father. You are just a misguided little boy masquerading as a man.

"Look. It's easier to just accept my life for what it is than try to pretend it'll become something it never **can** be." He still hovered above her. "I'm never going to be like you. Even if I do go over to Dumbledore and renounce my father and my old ways, I'm still not going to—"

"Why?"

"Because…" His eyes were filling with tears that he tried furiously to blink away. "I'm not… I'm not strong enough." A tear slipped from his eye and fell down to land on her cheek. Slowly, she reached for the tear and brought it to her lips.

"Frustration," she said, staring into the grey eyes that reflected the same hurt that kept her awake at night.

His voice was gravelly and quite. "And… loneliness?"

"Right," she whispered. "And loneliness."

For several seconds, they just absorbed everything, spoken and unspoken, that had happened between them. The only comprehensible thought in her mind—_Kiss me._

As Draco slowly bent down, his heart beating heavily and broken images clouding his mind, Hermoine's eyelids flickered shut. She could feel his breath on her lips. She knew that this was wrong, but at that moment, it was the only thing that felt right. Her body ached for his, and then—

**"EEEEEEEEE!"**

The teakettle was whistling. Their hot water was ready.


End file.
